


The Girl Who'll Never Grow Up

by MedieavalBeabe



Category: Disney - Fandom, Peter Pan - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Genderbend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedieavalBeabe/pseuds/MedieavalBeabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wendell Darling tells his sisters stories about Petra Pan, the girl who'll never grow up, but little do the Darling children know just how true those stories are! Soon they find themselves battling pirates, partying with Indians, swimming with mermaids and above all flying with fairies in the magical world of Neverland!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl Who'll Never Grow Up

“The villainous Captain Hook had Petra Pan cornered. Petra was badly wounded in her right shoulder and as she collapsed to the floor, Hook allowed a sly smile to curl onto her painted red lips as she raised her golden sword, ready to deliver the final fatal blow...”

Joan and Michelle both gasped. Michelle clutched her favourite bear so tightly that Wendell was sure his head might fall off. He grinned at the expressions on both of his sisters faces. “But just then, as she brought down her arm, the sword hovered out of her hand and a bright spot of light appeared out of nowhere!”

“Tinker!” exclaimed Michelle, excitedly. “Petra Pan’s fairy friend!”

“The very same! That distraction was enough for Petra to leap to her feet and grab the flying sword. She held it to the wicked pirate captain’s throat.

“Yield, Hook!”

“Never!” snarled the captain. “That was bad form, Pan!”

“Petra laughed, mischievously. “Come on, Tinker!”

“Then, together, the pair of them sent the wicked captain sprawling into the sea, where the crocodile was waiting to chase her into Dead Man’s Cove!”

“Yay!” squealed Michelle, clapping her hands together. 

“What’s going on in here?”

Both girls shrieked and even Wendell jumped as the light was suddenly snapped on in their room. Michelle rolled off the bed and landed with a sudden thud and a cry of “Oo-ow!” on the floor. Their father, George Darling, frowned at them. 

“I was just...” began Wendell. 

“Wendell was telling us all about Petra Pan!” Joan interrupted, helping Michelle to her feet. 

“Ow!” Michelle moaned, rubbing her elbow.

“What’s happened?” Mary, their mother, walked into the room, a hair pin in her mouth as she finished pinning her hair into place. 

“Mother!” Michelle wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs, fiercely. “I banged my elbow!”

“Did you? Oh, dear, sweetie,” their mother cooed, removing the pin from her mouth and bending down beside her youngest daughter. “Here now, let me kiss it better.”

“Teddy banged his elbow too,” Michelle added. 

“Son, what have I told you about filling your sisters’ heads with silly stories?” asked their father, sternly, folding his arms. 

Wendell flushed. “Not to do it.”

“But they’re not silly,” insisted Joan.

“Petra Pan’s real and she can make you fly!” Michelle added. 

“Poppycock!” sniffed George. 

Mary glanced at her husband. “George, dear, they’re only having a bit of fun.”

“Mary, I would have thought that at the age of thirteen, our son would have had enough of such trivial pursuits,” sighed George. 

Wendell raised his head. “I don’t think you ever grow out of telling stories.”

“That’s as may be,” replied his father, steadily. “But you’re growing up. Soon you’ll be a man, and you can’t keep sharing the nursery with your sisters forever.”

Wendell knew that his father was just being testy because he was stressed, and frustrated, about this dinner party they had been invited to by his boss. It would certainly explain why he’d put on mismatching socks. Before anyone could answer him, however, the door creaked open and the family dog sauntered into the room.

“Nana!” exclaimed Michelle, flinging her arms around the dog’s neck.

“And that’s another thing!” snapped their father, struggling with his cufflinks. “The idea of a dog as a nursemaid!”

“Father, you can’t get rid of Nana!” exclaimed Wendell, springing to his feet. “She’s family!”

“Who said anything about getting rid of her?” George shot his son a stern look. “By rights, dogs belong in the kitchen, or in a kennel in the garden!”

“But that’s cruel!” exclaimed Joan, also hugging the giant St Bernard. “You can’t make her sleep out in the cold!”

“George, you’re upsetting the children,” said Mary, soothingly, in her motherly way, and she helped her husband fasten his cuffs. “And is now really the best time to talk about such things, when we’re about to go out? If we delay any more, we’ll be late.”

George pulled himself together. “Fine, fine. The dog can stay inside. But I meant what I said before.” He turned to Wendell. “It’s about time you had a room of your own.”

“But I like it here,” Wendell replied.

“Wendell, I think your father’s right,” replied his mother, gently. “You’re growing up.”

“But I don’t want to grow up.”

“Nonsense!” Bracingly his father clapped him on the shoulder. “You can’t stay a child forever, you know! There’s a whole world out there just waiting for a young man like you!”

“But I’m not a man yet!” Wendell wriggled out from under his father’s hand. Nana started at the tone of his voice and began to bark. 

“Nana, Nana, fetch!” cried Michelle, throwing a ball for her. Unfortunately her aim wasn’t so great and as their father stepped back, the ball went under his foot. He stumbled and Nana, thinking it was all a game, shot after the ball, knocking him backwards. Poor George slipped and fell out of the nursery room. Nana skitted after the ball. 

“That is it!” cried their father. “Out!”

He pointed to Nana.

“No!” cried the girls as one.

“George, dear,” began Mary.

“No!” George got to his feet and grabbed Nana by the collar. “There’ll be no more dogs for nursemaids in this house!”

“Nana!” cried Michelle, almost in tears as they watched their father drag her down the stairs and out into the garden. 

“Mother, he can’t!” exclaimed Joan.

“Sweetie, your father’s just under a lot of stress. He doesn’t mean it,” their mother replied, giving Michelle a hug. “Nana will be just fine for tonight.”

Wendell sighed and went to sit on his bed. “If this was Neverland, nothing like this would ever happen!”

Their mother smiled. “Now, look, the three of you really need to get some sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Things always look better then.”

It took a lot of her gentle persuasion, however, to get Michelle and Joan into bed. Wendell sat up beneath the sheets, arms folded, seething, as she tucked his sisters into their beds and then came to kiss him goodnight. “I wish he’d stop calling those stories “Poppycock,” he muttered, crossly. 

“He just means that there’s no truth in them,” his mother replied, kissing him. 

“But there is, Mother. Petra Pan’s real and I’ve got proof.”

Mary frowned. “What do you mean, love?”

Wendell bit his lip. “Last time she was here, she left something behind.”

“What? Last time?”

“She comes by...to hear stories...I think...” Wendell yawned. His eyes were beginning to droop. “And Nana...got something of hers...”

“Oh? What?”

“Her shadow.”

“Her shadow?”

“Mm.” Wendell lay down. “I’m keeping it safe for when she comes back...”

He quickly fell asleep. His mother blinked and then smiled. “Of course, dear,” she murmured, kissing him, gently. “Goodnight.”

Of course she dismissed what her son had said as simple childish fantasy. How could such a thing be true? 

The answer was, quite simply. 

Petra Pan waited on the roof of the house until the two adults had finally left in a hansom cab. Then, lighter than air, she hopped onto the window sill and peered down into the garden. Nana slept, quietly content, in her kennel. 

Her twelve year old face was lit for an instant by a glowing light. Tinker, her little blonde fairy, peered over her shoulder at the dog. Then, silently, he flitted through the keyhole and unlocked the window. Petra hopped silently into the room. 

“Find it, Tinker!”

Tinker flitted all about the room and Petra began to search through the toy box. Now, she mused to herself, if I were my shadow, where would I be when not attached to me? It was a curious puzzle. 

Tinker suddenly tinkled like a bell, lighting up the keyhole of the top drawer in a chest of drawers. Petra understood at once. “In there?”

Tinker nodded and Petra opened the drawer. At once her shadow swooped out, glad to be free of that stuffy drawer at long last, and soared around the room. “Oi!” Petra immediately leapt after it. “Get back here, you!” 

Kicking the drawer shut, and Tinker inside it by mistake, she chased her shadow all around the room. It was a mad chase that dizzied them both but eventually, Petra leapt upon the shadow, dragged it to the ground, knocking over a footstool and waking Wendell in the process, and pinned it down. “Now, you!” she growled, seizing a nearby bar of soap and attempting to stick the shadow back onto her feet. 

“My God!” exclaimed Wendell in a strangled tone. “Petra Pan!” 

Petra jumped at the sound of his voice. At once her dagger was in her hand, but Wendell didn’t seem to notice. He stumbled out of bed. “I knew you’d come back for the shadow!”

Petra lowered her dagger. “I can’t get it to stick back on.”

“Well, no wonder if you’re using soap,” laughed Wendell, delighted that she was actually here in his room. “But Joan has a sewing kit, and I’ve sewn buttons on; I think I can help.”

Petra blinked at him as he went over to the drawer and pulled it open. Immediately, Tinker shot out, pin in hand, and stabbed Wendell’s hand. “Ouch!” exclaimed Wendell.

“Tinker!”

Their shouts woke Joan and Michelle. Petra immediately caught hold of Tinker, who dropped the pin, and wrapped his arms around her fingers, protectively. “What was that?” asked Wendell, rubbing his hand.

“Just Tinker. What’s got into you?” Petra snapped to the fairy. 

Michelle gasped and threw the covers of her. “Petra Pan! She’s here!”

“Huh?” Joan pulled on her glasses and blinked. “Wow!”

Petra stared as Michelle ran forwards to hug her. She glanced questioningly at Wendell. 

“They’re my sisters,” said Wendell, quickly. “Michelle and Joan, and I’m Wendell.”

Petra replaced her dagger. “Can you sew on my shadow?” she asked Joan.

“Your shadow?” Joan blinked at what she was holding in her hands. “Oh! Um, yes, I suppose so!”

Petra released Tinker, who sat on her shoulder, arms folded. “Well, here, then.” She thrust the shadow at Joan. 

Wendell pulled the sewing kit from the drawer. “Is it all true?” asked Michelle, eagerly. “Are you really from Neverland? Do you never really grow up there? Are there mermaid and Indians and pirates there?”

Petra glanced at Wendell. “She talks a lot, doesn’t she?”

Wendell smiled. “But is it, all of it, true?”

“Yes.”

Michelle gasped in excitement, clapping her hands together. “Oh! Can we go? Please, please, please?”

Wendell smiled. “I wish we could.”

Petra seated herself cross-legged on Joan’s bed and Joan got to work sewing on her shadow. Petra looked up at Wendell. “I heard the story tonight. The one where I was badly injured by Hook and then Tinker saved the day. I always loved that one.”

Wendell shrugged, bitterly. “It might be the last one you hear. Tonight’s probably my last night in the nursery.”

“Why?”

“Father says he has to grow up,” Joan replied. Michelle bit her lip, mournfully.

“No more stories,” Petra echoed.

“Maybe,” Wendell replied. 

“There, done!” smiled Joan, proud of herself. 

Petra leapt to her feet and the shadow leapt up with her. She looked at the three of them. “If you could still hear stories, you’d be happy, right?”

“Oh, yes!” Michelle nodded, eagerly. 

Petra smiled. “Then you can come with me! To Neverland!”


End file.
